


Dark King

by Bittodeath



Category: Wicked Lovely Series - Melissa Marr
Genre: Canon Compliant, Complicated Relationships, Faeries - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, In between the second and the third book, Kissing, Love/Hate, M/M, Smoking, Violent Thoughts, retrouvailles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: After receiving power over the Dark Court, Niall visits Irial at his home. Not knowing if he hates him or loves him, but inevitably going back to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had started this a while ago and I decided to finish it for the NaNo so here it is. I love writing these two (well to be perfectly honest I love writing Irial I just LOVE Irial favourite character ever ANYWAY) so this was bound to happen.

Niall opened the door. It had been so long since he last came here. They all looked at him, and slowly bowed. He knew Irial had their heart, but they would obey him as their King. He sighed. Right, a wonderful present from Irial. Still, it didn’t feel that bad to a king. What felt really good was being _Irial_ ’s King. He walked toward the throne, picked up the crown Irial had left there and put it on his head as he sat down. Gabriel came forward and renewed his vows: he would serve the Dark King.

_Dark King_. It had a nice ring to it. The Sovereign of Nightmares and Ruler of Un-Named things. Yes, he could definitely get used to that. He realized soon enough that being Dark King was exhausting. No wonder Irial had wanted to quit for so long. The ravenous Dark Court was violent, lustful and blood-thirsty, as well as jealous and prone to envy, cruel, hot-blooded and easily angered. The Dark Court was _his_ , he thought as he felt them in a way he would never have been able to imagine. Finally, he left the Court and made his way to a place he thought he would never see again: Irial’s home. Knowing the faery’s feelings towards him, there was no reason he wouldn’t let him enter and stay.

He hesitated a second before the gargoyle and finally put his hand in it. The jaw closed itself on his skin, fangs pierced his skin and he felt a bead of blood dripping on the metal. Oh so delicious tickle of pain. He pulled back his hand and waited: soon, he heard the shuffle of naked feet on thick carpets, a sound he had learned to know and to love. Irial opened the door, his eyes still half-closed and puffy with sleep, hazy, his hair all ruffled. He was only wearing silky dark blue pyjama pants, his black wings folded in his back and trailing on the ground behind him. A light appeared in his eyes when he recognized Niall.

“My King”, he murmured in a voice hoarse with sleep, and Niall’s heart skipped a beat. He could remember perfectly those sleepless nights where he tasted Irial on his tongue, and the rich aroma of foreign wines, and delicate spices. He could remember music playing around them and Irial’s voice murmuring in his ear, and the feeling of pillows under them, and Irial’s light gasps under his hands. “I never thought I would see you here again”, he added, his voice cleared now, and Niall felt memories flood his mind once more. The physical pain. The emotional pain. The mental pain. How Irial had broken him, torn him to pieces and trumped on the remains. How he had so intimately destroyed him.

How he was here yet, seeking for more, addicted to the Temptation he embodied. He couldn’t remember why he had come here, but Irial’s eyes were staring down to his soul and he lowered his walls. A soft whine escaped Irial’s mouth when he was struck by the force of his emotions – the anger, the pain, the desire, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the violence – and he lightly staggered, almost drunk on so many raw emotions given to him, offered to him. Was it a peace offering? Niall himself didn’t know, he was just giving, feeding that man who was engrained in his mind, in his body, impossible to forget.

He stepped inside, his foot finding its place exactly between Irial’s, his hands darting up to grip his skull firmly, as if to crush him, as if to control him, Irial’s eyes widening – because for the first time, he is afraid of him, and it tastes sweet and sour on Niall’s tongue. He could kill him. He had that power, now. Make him pay. Make him suffer. Instead, he crashed his lips against Irial’s, claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss, fingernails raking against his scalp. _You’re here. You’re mine._ He could feel Irial’s hands against him, grabbing onto his leather jacket, perhaps pushing him away – he didn’t know, he didn’t care.

“Niall…” his voice called, breathless, and he loved how it sounded, how _wrecked_ it was – he wanted to make him suffer just as he had, wanted to mark him, break him, turn him to ashes. He hated him, oh God how much he hated him, wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing, squeezing until-  
“I love you”, he heard himself whisper, awe lacing his voice, fingers gripping the black strands of Irial’s hair. He felt something bloom inside of him and no, no, it wasn’t his feelings – it was Irial’s, all in blacks and blues, seducing him and crushing his spirit, so strong it was breaking through Irial’s defences.  
“Took you long enough”, Irial said with a wry smile, fingers tightening on the front of his jacket. “Now my king, what do you want from me?”

The door shut close loudly, Niall’s fingers curling almost painfully around Irial’s naked waist. Slowly, he rose his hands to his head, cupping Irial’s face gently – his skin a darker shade against the paleness of the fey – eyes searching Irial blue one’s. There was a softness in them he had forgotten, or rather that Irial hadn’t shown in centuries. A softness for him. A weakness. _Have I really been one?_ Irial was afraid of him, of his feelings. That was part of why their past was what is was. So sweet and so violent.

“You gave me power of the Dark Court”, Niall whispered, “you gave me your crown and your thrown. I came to take the last item, the one you offered to me wholeheartedly.”

Irial slowly slipped his hands under the jacket, in Niall’s back, palms flat against the small of his back.

“I give and you take. Nothing really changed, did it?”

Niall’s thumb pressed against his lower lip, sliding sensually across it, feeling the pointy edge of the canines against his flesh. Oh how cruel Irial could be, he certainly remembered. He wanted to make him beg, but the fierce light in his eyes told him it was no use to try. He carefully bent his head to brush against those sinful lips. He knew it was part of Irial’s nature to be so desirable. To be so beautifully perfect. It never changed the fascination he exerted on him. If Irial was Temptation, he was Anger – a darker emotion perhaps, and so intimately linked to it. He could feel the Gancanagh’s breath on him, light and promising, waiting for him to act. Waiting for him to yield.

The silence between them was deafening. Who would act first, who would lose this confrontation, who would simply _admit_ they needed each other, they always did? Finally, Niall’s lips closed the distance, pressing against Irial’s, a proposition, a promise, just a taste of what they could have. The former Dark King could feel his heart beat faster, his fingers now tracing Niall’s scars under his shirt, and sliding down the one on his face. He was still beautiful, even broken, even reduced to pieces. Kissing those lips felt natural, and yet it was a distant memory.

“I want you”, Niall murmured in his ear, his voice hoarse with a contained desire.  
“I was just waiting for you to come back”, Irial retorted.

 

Irial looked up from the silk black sheets where he was laying, extending his hand to the nightstand to grab his cigarette-case and his lighter. Niall was faster however, grabbing the silver container and clicking it open, letting his lover take one before lighting it. Irial’s eyes were hooded, looking at him and still pretending not to. He rolled around and settled against the pillows, his body still shining with a thin layer of sweat, red marks drawing idle patterns on his skin. He was about to playfully complain about them when Niall sat up by his side, revealing the long, deep-red, bleeding scratches on his back, crossing over paler scars. Irial smirked, satisfied, and gently patted his lover covered thigh.

“Don’t make me wait another five centuries for another round”, he teased Niall.

He could already see the effects of the Dark Court on him, in the proud carriage of his head, the smooth rolling of his hips, the tautness of his shoulders. Without thinking about it, he threaded his fingers through Niall’s long hair – it was soft under his touch – and Niall stared at him.

“I’ve always known you as the Dark King”, the faery said, “something ominous, dangerous and tentative.”  
“Is it any different now?”

Niall rolled above him, propped up on his arms around his head, his hips resting against his and sending a shiver through his body. Slowly, the fey rose his hips and crossed his ankles above the back of his thighs. Niall bent his head and opened his mouth for a kiss, Irial blowing the smoke as their lips touched, letting Niall curve his back and nape to throw back his head and exhale. The Dark King twirled a black strand of hair around his finger, tugging gently to command his lover’s attention.

“Stay with me”, he whispered, his voice halfway to an order.  
“As my King commands.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, don't hesitate to comment either here or on my tumblr bittodeath.tumblr.com!


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